The Block Party: a Novel by Jamie Day

Author:Jamie Day
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Chapter 28

Lettie

Jay might be ignoring my texts, but his mother doesn’t ignore the doorbell.

“Hi, Lettie,” Mandy Kumar says without much inflection. “Looking for Jay?”

Well, I’m not here for tea. I think it, but wisely don’t say it.

“Is he home?” I ask. I’m making a big show of being sweet and friendly. Don’t want Mom to think her dear son is in any danger.

“He’s downstairs,” she says, and steps aside to invite me in. There’s something icy in Mandy’s smile. I’ve got the sense I’m not the only one putting on a show.

“We had a lovely dinner with your mom and dad,” she tells me. “Such a great neighborhood, so many interesting people—and a very lively discussion.” Her eyes light up strangely.

I nod, not sure what else to say.

“Any plans for college?” she asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “Just getting my applications out now.”

“Well, good luck,” she says. “College is such an amazing time in your life. Treasure it.”

“I will,” I promise, not sure it’s one I can keep. It’s kind of a weird thing to say, too.

I certainly don’t share which schools I’ve applied to, or that my top choice is California. All this would open me up for more questions. California? Why so far from home? What do you plan to study? We might even get to talking about the high cost of higher education these days, and I could talk about how my dad wants me to go to UMass, but I’ll get loans even if I have to go against his wishes. All that’s just too much of an info dump for my current state of mind, which is bordering on murderous.

Mandy Kumar seems to sense my growing anxiety. She smiles tightly. Directs me to the basement, which I could have found on my own.

Down I go. There are no lights on, but there’s still a glow, like a TV in a dark room. Aside from a rich aroma of coffee, the air feels dank and stale. When I reach the bottom step, I see Jay seated in an office chair with his back turned to me. He’s got headphones on, so he doesn’t hear me descend. Probably didn’t hear me ring the doorbell, either.

Two simple wooden desks are pressed up against a concrete wall on which rest four brightly lit computer monitors. There’s a sizable rug beneath the desks, but it doesn’t give the space any real ambience. I see no file cabinets. No stacks of papers. Nothing on the walls. Everything Jay wants and needs must be contained within his twin computer towers, which buzz and hum like living beings.

A small table close to Jay holds a coffeemaker, one that can also brew espresso. A half-full pot of coffee is ready to pour, and that’s it for the office accoutrements. For some reason, I’d envisioned the lair of a future billionaire to be a bit more … luxurious.

“Jay,” I say sternly.

He doesn’t turn around, probably because he can’t hear me.

I tap him hard on the shoulder and say his name again, this time in a growl.

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